Bratwurst and Currywurst
by Balin Lord of Moria
Summary: Creative one-shot. What if Remy had done his cooking in Germany instead of France? What sorts of characters would he meet there? Look into the thoughts of Remy and two of his human friends in Marktwirt restaurant. Humans are based on Linguini and Colette.


**A/N: **I'm more familiar with Germany and German things than I am with France and French things, and I wondered what it would be like it _Ratatouille_ had taken place just outside Munich, Bavaria. There is a German restaurant called Marktwirt, but this restaurant isn't based on it. The title of this story is a play off of the title _"Ratatouille,"_ since sausages are a popular German food.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own _Ratatouille_. Pixar owns it.

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_**Bratwurst and Currywurst**_

* * *

_Remy_

They say that rats always get along by surviving on garbage. Well, not only is that disgusting, but it means taking things from people that haven't been given to you. I couldn't bear that thought; I had always wondered what it would be like to _make_ food, by cooking it.

Then, one day, in an old lady's house where my family and I often snitch food from, I saw on the television a rotund cook named Marktwirt, whose restaurant bore the same name. He made the most delectable dishes in his relaxed, informal restaurant, where some of the most popular German food was made. It was very popular, until a food critic named Adolph Ego tried some of his food and gave it a scathing review. Marktwirt was depressed after that, and eventually died of grief, but the restaurant that was his legacy lived on.

Through a series of misadventures where I got separated from my family, I went through the sewers and several landscapes until I ended up in Bavaria, the southernmost state of Germany. It was a beautiful place; not like Paris, France, maybe, but it was still scenic. I found a way to sneak into the Marktwirt restaurant and saved a soup from being ruined by a clumsy new employee. Said employee, named Ludwig, so I heard, almost threw me out, but I made a deal with him; I would help him cook food in the kitchen if he didn't drown me.

And now, I can tell anybody that it's an experience unlike any other! I make Ludwig, a clumsy young man if I ever saw one, grill the best bratwurst sausages this side of Germany, and I help him prepare the curry not only properly, but creatively, for the customers.

_I just wonder where this job will lead me in the future._

* * *

_Ludwig_

I've never been good at much. I loved Oktoberfest, so I tried to party with the other beer drinkers, but I discovered I didn't like beer. My preference for soft drinks didn't sit well with the other people. My mom and dad insisted that was nothing to be ashamed of, but it still made me feel inadequate, because beer is so _Deutsch_ in Deutschland. When I wanted to get a job, I wondered if I could be a bartender so I could meet people, but shortly after I got the job, they told me bartenders have to appreciate the liquor as much as the customers, because bartenders should practice what they preach and drink with the people. Then I joined a profitable business in bookselling, but my clumsiness meant my falling off a ladder and damaging about four-dozen books.

Now I'm in a job at the Marktwirt restaurant in Bavaria. It might be my last chance for a good career. I started off as a garbage boy, but then a talking rat suddenly appeared in the kitchen and made some good soup out of something I nearly ruined. And now he has to help me keep making good food for the restaurant, because I received credit for the soup when the rat, Remy, was responsible.

I wonder what my parents and my childhood friends would have thought of what I have become now: a puppet for a talking animal. I think this is about the only thing my friends would consider worse than some Germans think of the building of the Reichstag in Berlin. Of course, my parents, particularly my mom, might counsel me either to keep up the good work, or to admit the truth and face the music. But all I know is how to go with the flow, and an average, brown-haired German like me should be able to do that.

But I still can't. Remy the rat has taken over my life, and even my body, and while he and I make the best bratwurst and currywurst in Bavaria, I feel like I live a possessed life.

_Gott im Himmel! What have I gotten myself into now?_

* * *

_Carlette_

The kitchen at Marktwirt can be such a roughhouse. Sometimes I think my fellow chefs must not have graduated with honors from anywhere. Not to mention the fact that they always fight amongst themselves. I know what it's like to be a sensible, professional employee in a business full of unruly people. My father is a politician who serves a high position in der Bundesrepublik Deutschland, and he works with people who are as unlike him as flesh and salt. He's an idealist, and he wants to see Germany become more like it was in the days before it was highly industrialized by all those scientists, not to mention that ugly scoundrel Hitler, into a country not unlike old Germania. My mother agrees with him on this matter (she's a schoolteacher, and encourages her students to think for themselves and use their imaginations to solve the problems of the world), but his co-workers think he's crazy, loving the industrious new Germany that exists today.

We go to the Englischer Garten in Munich on occasion to relax and unwind, because we live very close to that city, and that's where my parents live. I think Munich is a beautiful city, with its quaint architecture combined with modern conveniences. I'm not as worried as dad about the modernization of Germany and the world, but I agree that the world is becoming a little too technological. We need a little simplicity around here, and that's why I prefer Munich to Berlin; Munich retains more of the old-fashioned things and ancient ways than Berlin does.

This is one reason why I got my career at Marktwirt. I love simplicity, and it serves simple food in a simple atmospheric place. Working with the chefs, especially Sander, the head chef, is a little rough, as I said, but maybe a woman's touch is what is needed to put these boys in their place. And except for that unhappy food critic, Adolph Ego, everyone I've known appreciates or loves everything we serve here. Marktwirt would be proud if he were still with us.

I have noticed the way that youngster, Ludwig, ja, that's what it was, has been looking at me. It makes we wonder if he thinks I'm pretty. Well, many people have said that with my black hair, smooth face, and surprisingly slim figure, I can really make heads turn. I can't say if he'll be any different from the others.

_Oh, well. So ist das Leben._

**A/N:** Ludwig is loosely based off Linguini. Carlette is loosely based off Colette. Adolph Ego, Marktwirt, and Sander are loosely based off Anton Ego, Gusteau, and Skinner, respectively.


End file.
